


Le Muse

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Will believes he is losing his sanity, Doctor Lecter comes to his aid in unexpected ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Muse

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE.

“Bon appetite,” Lecter beamed if the word were appropriate for the certain pride he felt in crafting his dishes from the shopping bag artfully in full dress to the suitably pristine porcelain dinnerware. Pride but not overflowing with the emotion. 

Will watched the empty space between his soup spoon and salad fork sway as Lecter’s silver cufflink flashed only momentarily below the unbroken gaze he held with the hardwood tabletop, his breath caught, he mumbled a quick harried, “Thank you, Doctor-” 

His lips felt tight against his skull when he laid eyes on his plate, Will’s hands refused to pick up the fork and knife. Lecter just then musically clicked the bottleneck of a fragrant Chianti into his wineglass, the detective nodded his limitation to the opulent amount served unto him, the physician then served himself a beautiful plate which’s name he would learn after taking a sampling bite. Only Will knew not where to start lest he poke his eyes out and impale his arms with the labyrinth of the elk’s horns, Lecter seemed to be having no trouble at all maneuvering about the wild horns branching outwards along the table. 

“You wanted to discuss something with me, Will?” Lecter asked after shearing a braised sliver of brisket and taking sip of his wine, Will held his breath for the mournful braying erupting on his plate which almost drowned out his host’s metallic tone, “About the case-” 

“No- No, Doctor Lecter, that isn’t the point of my visit,” Will blinked sleepily at the loud snort breathing cold forest air into his lungs as he spoke, he quelled the tremble and annoyance at his own bad manners at being a guest of Hannibal Lecter’s table, he ignored another predatory bleat of the poor animal on his plate, “It’s no longer time just slipping away, I can’t seem to find my way back unless I’m in a criminal mindset.” 

Just then, he had Lecter’s full attention. The physician laid his silverware aside and stepped to Will’s side in terrible quite punctuated not by Lecter’s steps, but the calm grunts shaking his plate down to the table’s legs, Lecter said as if trying to calm Will, “Your glass.” 

“I don’t need more-” Will followed Lecter’s gaze down to the floor where his hands gripped the table edge and lower to his shattered wineglass littering the floor, not a drop lay within the intact bowl connecting a single sliver of the glass lip to the stem, he gaped wide-eyed at his host standing over him awaiting for his mind to ingest what had happened, “Doctor Lecter, I’m-!” 

“Don’t apologize, Will,” the physician merely scooped up the glass carefully with his fingers, the larger pieces first to the manageable, he stood to full height over Will whom still sat with his fingers massaging his throbbing temples and spectacles lying uselessly atop his neat ensemble of silverware, Lecter took Will by the shoulder and spoke evenly, “Please use my washroom to freshen up, we’ll skip to the first course if you wish.” 

Beyond mortified and mentally speechless, Will could manage only a terse nod to his host, he made his way to the nearest bathroom and felt a headache starting to build sandcastles behind his eyelids. 

“Will,” Lecter’s eyes took a startling quality in the low light, looking like a pair of shadowed rubies, Will gulped at his own unease with himself, his inability to take control of all these scenarios his brain seemed to run away with, “It always helps to distract yourself with a current situation than to linger on questions you can’t answer for yourself. Think about it.” 

He shoved his hands into his pockets and scolded himself the whole way to Lecter’s washroom, he nearly shut the door behind himself and thump his head against the heavy door, not caring if his temples knocked partially at a pair of metal hooks fixed to the door. 

A type of unease close to anxiety pounded against skull, his palms began to heat and sweat, behind him came a huff accompanied by what sounded like a heavy hoof scratching and thumping at the door. ‘This is Insane!’ thought Will, his body bracing itself against the door, he locked the doorknob, he took deep breaths as the sounds from the outside slowly died away to the hum of a vacuum sucking and scrubbing in the dining room. Lecter. He realized he was never more happy to hear a vacuum gobbling the formerly-spotless carpet. He thought about opening the door but was sure to have a raised brow turned on him for not taking Lecter’s advice, Will tiredly tucked his glasses away atop the flat counter, he rubbed his eyes of the muscle soreness accompanied by strained eye muscles tugging at his thin corneas. 

He turned on the facet, spashed his face with cold water and waited with his eyes closed for the breathing on his neck to subside and melt back into his subconscious, his arms gripped the counter’s edge, the florescent bulb above the mirror softly buzzing above his head, he repeated to himself over and over, forcing himself to accept and apply the word, “Distraction. Distraction. Distraction…” 

Doctor Hannibal Lecter! 

Out of the corner of his eye Will spotted a glass bottle of colorless liquid as he pushed his glasses back unto his nose; partially full, about two or three and a half ounces short of the full twelve fluid ounces promised on the package’s label bottom. A distraction, a distraction, he Needed something to distract him and on the entire countertop there was a fresh bar of soap with dried suds clinging ring in ring in a cluster on the right side of a stainless steel handle on the side of a swan-necked water faucet. Other than that, there was a blank vial next to the soap bar which had a glass lid, an old fashioned glass dipper reaching to the bottom of the glass vial at less than one-fifth full, Will felt himself completely out of place in the organized fixtures in Doctor Hannibal Lecter’s washroom as if everything down to the last ‘accidental’ speck of stray faucet drippings were planned to be where as they were. He blushed at the alienation within the walls of a room especially built to contain and hide human imperfections, at times to mask them below layers of either strategically placed clothes or layers of skin-perfecting foundations, Doctor Lecter needed nor had either to hide anything. 

Will Graham, on the other hand, had to Apply himself every morning (not that he ever took the time) to Appear alert, awake, and free of the visible disappointments of the day before. ‘One disaster of a distraction, Will,’ he thought to himself as he saw a cabinet most likely a place for the rest of Lecter’s grooming effects, he rubbed his eyebrows after deciding not to snoop any more than was necessary for a curious guest in a home the absolute picture of very muted flamboyance and European-influenced elegance (Learned, not taught). The round bottle dully gleaming innocently as his eyes burned from fatigue and his fingers ached to feel the enticingly smooth surface of the vial, he gave into temptation knowing fully that Lecter would have Wanted him to explore and maybe even Prove to himself the present did not always accompany a body bag. Will lifted the delicate weight in his fingers, bringing the mixture up into the florescent vanity lighting to guess the contents of the liquid; tinged a slight pink, but otherwise clear, the telltale globules clinging to the glass surface proved what he held was a type of liquefied oil. 

Will paused to listen, his ears pounded inside his head to the calm echo of his heart. He thought about calling out to Lecter, at the same time did not want to interrupt the psychiatrist in preparing the assembly on the next course; the same way Detective Crawford would not interrupt his sessions on the crime scenes, the same could be said about Lecter arranging an edible Van Gogh original on a platter. There was no telling what would come if either of them were disturbed amidst a necessary function. He decided after a bout of calming breaths to ask Doctor Lecter of the substances in the vial he held. 

“I was starting to think I designated myself as rotten company and the toilet made a better conversation,” Doctor Lecter stood with his hands on a cutting board inside the spacious kitchen below a bright bulb, making the kitchen appear as if it were a stage set from an early 50’s noir film, Will approached holding out the vial which was then handed to Lecter, he asked moreover for opinion than knowledge, “Do you know what that is, Will?” 

“Excuse my prying, Doctor Lecter,” Will folded his sleeves up towards his elbows much like Lecter who was an impeccably neat chef in one of his fine pressed cotton button ups, the detective took an apron and fixed the cloth about his waist as he explained to his host once passing off the curious vial, “It caught my eye and I haven’t been able to wrap my head around it with the substance.” 

Doctor Lecter stared at the object held within his long fingers, rubbing the glass between the neck and glass stopper which corked the vial shut, inside was a delicate icicle-looking dipper connected to the center of the glass stopper. 

“This combination was a gift from my ward twenty years ago, crafted in a perfumery ‘Le Muse’. Paris,” the psychiatrist explains as he silently slips open the vial, his fingers dabbing along the glass dropper and he rubbed his fingers until a scent permeated the space between them, “A lady by the name Murasaki. Would you mind?” 

Lecter gently rubbed the heated skin behind Will’s ears, trailing in faint dots along his neck and repeating to the other side, he then massaged the very center at the detective’s nape where his blush began and overtook his cheeks in that very instant, Will asked a little hesitantly, “Where you studied to become a surgeon?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Lecter’s voice held a clear timbre as he answered from inside his throat, his lips played in a smile as his eyes though downcast to Will’s chin sparkled delightfully as if remembering a fondness of long ago, “And my eager hand at mixing bowls to curb my appetite and energy.” 

“Oh,” Will felt a little the rift gaping wide between them now that Lecter merely leaned away to allow the detective room to take in his new scent, he sampled a unisexual virility in the oils applied to his skin, he smelled a note of smoky vétiver and touch of musk which neither overpowered nor fought for the crowning scent, “I might have a new favorite, Doctor Lecter.” 

“Anything matching your advancement instead of that ghastly aftershave is just fine with me,” Lecter chuckled whilst he took two plates from the crisper and gave a bowl of fluffy whipping cream to Will, “Tres magnifique.” 

Lecter set down both plates upon the sterilized island and plucked a few leaves of mint from his in-kitchen spice garden. Will quickly whipped the cold cream into stiff peaks and gently spooned spiraled dollops of the cream unto what looked like fig and apple tartlets. 

“Bear in mind how I always have time for you, Will. Yet tonight I was to attend a special engagement,” Lecter sprinkled the chopped seasoning over both crème tartlets, he took from the kitchen drawer two salad forks and two flutes, he filled the glasses with something unexpected: cranberry cocktail juice. 

“Telling by the scented oils in your bathroom which you Sometimes wear, but not all the time for it’s novelty?” Will leaned against the island alongside his host whom only glanced at his profile, “Another way to explain is how troublesome a guest I’ve been.” 

“A milder word would have sufficed, such as ‘appreciated’ and delightful. The way I see ‘troublesome’ is the University Philharmonic, Jack Crawford and our favorite reporter stripping their host of his mild temper,” the man beside him spoke but only meant to joke lightly, Will couldn’t help but to smile around his mouthful of crème and croissant-like tart crust, “Thusly committing public social animism as all that is left but a tabloid to immortalize my dinner party, I suppose there is a worse way to achieve infamy.” 

“Welcome to the ward,” the detective could not help but to invite facts and the characteristically dark attitude of the bizarre murders surrounding and stumping their FBI into chasing their own tails, he took a sip of the cranberry juice and stared off into the freshly-painted wall of Lecter’s kitchen, “Anyone who believes the Chesapeake Ripper is a genuine link to the Minerva Murderer has surrendered their soul to the Tattler already.” 

The quiet sound of the fork clinking against porcelain ended, along with the plate being set atop the counter, Lecter’s voice closer than an inch made Will’s hands shake, “You don’t believe that, do you, Will?” 

“Every kill the Chesapeake Ripper has made was both skillful and consistent each time,” Will remembered each victim in gruesome detail so close to lifelike that he had to put down his dessert so as to not reenact some of the more infamous of planned brutalities he recalled as horrid and nightmarish as they were, he swallowed and rasped, “He doesn’t commit the same crime twice, each one is not ‘tailored’ to fit the punishment, the punishment is thought out to fit the victim.” 

“Why do you say ‘punishment’, Will?” his skin itched as Lecter leaned a little closer, saturating the air with what Will came to recognize as pheromones or a lack thereof, “Is it for the lack of plausible evidence of psychiatric illness? Or is it for the lavish poignancy for drama of each killing?” 

“He finds his victims…how is there a milder way to put this-” the detective instinctively nibbled his inner lip, carefully choosing his words since many painted a vague picture of their killer, he took a sip of the juice, “They disgust him, are unsavory to him. Just as the Ripper wears his crimes like a straightjacket uniform, so did his victims toil like the regular thorn in his side, until it eventually earned them a place in his case files as a reward.” 

“Maybe the Ripper is imaginative, taking cue from Bela Lugosi and such,” Lecter answered, crossing his arms and looking Will in the eye as they accidentally met. 

“A removal job of two missing kidneys and a liver hardly spell amateur,” Will said, taking a bit of time to feel amazed at himself for these one-two questions which Lecter seemed characteristic for, catching him off guard at times and others giving him comfort when he least expected to believe himself to be a little more human than the sociopaths that eluded him and the Bureau. He then remembered back in the decade before a killer dubbed the ‘Minerva’ whom took inspiration for the Lugosi Clan films, but the new one surfaced just weeks before was a terrible dead ringer since the original was executed by lethal injection, “I’m guessing we’ve been talking about the Minerva copycat?” 

“Serial murderers naturally in general per se,” Lecter put Will’s plate back into his hand and they continued to nibble their dessert in silence, until he spoke almost in a prophetic tone, “You’ll catch him, Will. I believe in you.” 

Will beamed warmly as he took the last bite of his plate, he then glanced to Lecter who was still observing him politely within the distance between them, the detective whispered sincerely, “Thank you, Doctor Lecter.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently came upon the Hannibal NBC series after reading the books/collecting all the films & watch it dutifully online, my message: 
> 
> Yay Season 2~!!! 
> 
> Mads, you sexy Hannibal, you~


End file.
